


falling on my knees

by pendules



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Begging, Canon Compliant, Forgiveness, M/M, Making Up, post-MITB 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 14:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7848892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Somehow, it makes a sick kind of sense that Dean only realised that he loved him when he was driving a steel chair into his back.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	falling on my knees

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still super new to them, so sorry if anything's really off here. I just got back into WWE after, like, 10 years and it's absolutely their fault (especially Dean). I didn't really intend to write fic, though, but here we are. 12-year-old me is probably weirded out, but she can deal with it tbh. The UST cannot be denied.
> 
> Inspired by [Flume's _Never Be Like You_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-KPnyf8vwXI).

Sometimes, all Dean wants is for it to go back to how it used to be. For them to be _them_ again. He'd never, ever admit it, because it's fucking stupid, because it's fucking hopeless, because it's never going to be the way it was ever again.

Only now Seth's talking about it, about them, about all the things they did together, every time they stood side-by-side on the battlefield, every time they celebrated a victory together, consoled each other after a loss, made history together, just the three of them — and it shouldn't mean anything, shouldn't mean a damn thing coming out of his traitorous fucking mouth. Only it _does_. It means too much. It's what he's wanted to hear all along, shamefully, desperately. And he wants him to _stop_. Because he doesn't get to talk about them anymore; he's tainting all those memories just as they pass through his lying scumbag lips. He wants him to shut the fuck up. He wants to hit him in the face, hard, so that he gets knocked the fuck out and never dares to talk about them ever again. He wants to grab him and kiss him, hard, so that he can taste the remnants of those good times he'll never get back on his tongue.

Somehow, it makes a sick kind of sense that Dean only realised that he loved him when he was driving a steel chair into his back.

*

Money in the Bank is a haze after he grabs the briefcase. The only thing that matters is that he's walking out the new champion. 

Seth's smart. Seth _knows_ him. Knows he doesn't lie when he says he's gonna do something. He has to know what's going to happen. There's no other option.

There's only one way for it to go down: He sneaks up behind him and smashes the briefcase into the back of his head. 

The weight of the world slides off his shoulders when his music hits and the title's placed in his hands. He can breathe now; he's finally awake. It feels like he's been living in a thick fog for the last two years and now it's clearing. Now he can see straight ahead of him again.

*

After the triple threat's set, Roman finds him in his locker room.

"What's going on with you two?" he asks without preamble. And of course Roman senses it. He's always been uncannily perceptive, especially when it comes to the subtlest changes in the mood among the three of them.

"Me and who?" he asks stubbornly, even though there's literally no one else he could be talking about.

Roman just raises an eyebrow at him. "Don't even try to play. Something's _different_ now."

"Something's been different for a while, man," he says darkly.

"That's not what I mean. I meant — since you won _that_ ," Roman says, gesturing to the belt lying next to him on the bench.

Dean shrugs. "What, I'm not allowed to be happy?"

"Not if it ends up fucking with your head."

"You saying I'm crazy?" Dean says with a smirk.

"I'm saying — be careful," Roman says seriously.

Dean furrows his eyebrows and frowns at that. "No, _really_ , tell me. What do you actually think you're talking about right now?" he says, trying to keep his tone even.

"I'm saying — you may think you've gotten your… _revenge_ or whatever. But it doesn't change anything," Roman says, almost apologetic.

"You think I don't know that?" Dean asks incredulously. "I know who — _what_ — he is. I'm not a fucking idiot. I ain't fucking forgiving him or anything. I know he's never going to say that he's sorry —"

"Is that what you want?" Roman cuts in.

Dean just stares at him. He's never really thought about it. What he wants from Seth. Except for the obvious. For him to pay. For him to suffer. For him to feel everything Dean felt when he turned on them a million times over. But maybe it doesn't matter anymore. Dean has his title now. Dean's going to keep his title for a long fucking time. He knows what it's like now, to steal the thing Seth loves the most from him, to snatch it right out of his grasp with him utterly helpless to stop it. Maybe he can almost let go of it, this need to see him in pain, to make his life a living hell, so that he never, ever forgets what he did to him. Maybe it can be over. Maybe he can choose that now. Maybe he can be more than all-consuming hate and rage and the hollow, broken ruin of a man Seth left lying in his wake in that ring. 

"I don't know," he says truthfully. "You're right. It won't change anything. And I don't expect him to. But yeah, lately I've been wondering what I'd do if he ever did."

Roman just looks at him with a sad expression on his face.

Dean laughs a self-deprecating sort of laugh. "Don't give me that, man. I already know it's fucking pathetic."

Roman shakes his head in a dazed kind of way. "It's not — I just — I thought I knew everything there was to know about you guys."

Dean shrugs. "Shit happens, right? No use crying about it."

Roman just looks amused, like this is exactly how he'd expect Dean to respond to being in love with the asshole that fucked them both over and tried to end their careers.

"Fuck, I can't believe I'm saying this, man, but maybe you _should_ ," Roman says significantly.

"Should what?"

"I don't know. Talk to him," he suggests, like it's that simple.

Dean laughs scathingly. He'd always figured that any potential reconciliation would probably involve them either fighting or fucking it out (or both), no words required. "And say what exactly? That he broke my fucking heart? That nothing he can say will ever be enough to fix that but maybe I want to hear it anyway?"

Roman shrugs now. "Up to you, man. Whatever you need to say."

Dean considers it for a second and then half-nods. "Thanks, man."

"Good luck," is all Roman replies.

*

In the end, he's not the one to start the conversation.

Seth calls him the night before Battleground. He figures it's just a butt-dial or something and he's mostly just surprised Seth didn't delete his number. But when he hits the answer button out of curiousity, it's Seth's stupid nasally voice that greets him. Or tries to anyway, despite all the slurring.

" — _heyyy_ , Ambrose, Dean, Dean-o, _Deeeaaan_ —" he says, like he's getting used to saying his name again. "What's happening, man?" He bursts into stupid high-pitched giggles and Dean wonders how this became his life.

"Are you drunk, man? Before a pay-per-view? What the hell's going on?" He should be angry, probably. Should ask him why the fuck he's calling him. But he's genuinely worried right now, because this isn't Seth, not the Seth he thought he knew, not this new asshole Seth, and he absently thinks about calling someone to check on him.

"I was thinking — about Roman. And about you. We were _so_ good, Dean. So fucking good. The fucking best ever. And I fucked up so bad, man," he says, the last words muffled like he's talking with a hand over his face. "I fucked it all up. And I went too fucking far. And I couldn't go back, no matter how much I wanted — and _fuck, goddammit, Dean_ , I just —"

Dean takes a moment to absorb all of that, swallows hard. "You just what?" he asks, breathless.

"I just — I _miss_ you. I miss you so fucking bad. And I'm going to miss you even more. And I feel like it's my last chance to —"

"No, god, _don't_ — _fuck_ , Seth, you can't just — You can't do this like _this_. Not now. Not —" He's almost crushing his phone in his hand now. He thinks about throwing it across the room and ending this, as abruptly as waking up in the middle of a dream.

" _Dean_ ," he says, just his name, like a sigh, like a plea.

"No, just — hang up, alright? Go to sleep. You're gonna feel like shit in the morning, but maybe you deserve that."

Seth laughs, his stupid fucking laugh that usually drives him crazy but now just feels familiar, just makes him glad that he hasn't totally fucked himself up. "Okay."

"Just — We'll talk tomorrow, alright? No matter what happens —" Seth calling him to apologise is a scenario he's played out in only his wildest fantasies, but he's pretty sure he doesn't want it to happen like this. He needs to be sure that Seth really wants it, that he knows what he's asking for.

"You can just hit me, you know," Seth says calmly.

"What?" he says, wondering if he was wrong and if Seth's drunk something that's permanently damaged his brain.

"I mean, I used to think maybe it could be that simple — You hit me, I hit you, everything's fine. Like before," he says wistfully.

"Seth," he says regretfully. "It's never gonna be like before again, man."

"Yeah," Seth says, sounding almost sober now. "Yeah."

"I'll see you tomorrow," Dean tells him.

"Yeah. Night, Dean."

He doesn't hang up the phone, though, and Dean just listens to his breathing in the silence until it evens out and he ends the call.

*

Dean slips him the key to his hotel room on the way out of the arena.

He's sitting at the foot of the bed when he hears the door unlock. He doesn't move, though.

He watches as the door slowly opens and Seth's silhouette slides into the room and he quietly shuts it behind him.

He slowly turns to meet his gaze and Dean just waits — waits like he's been waiting for a day, for two years, for more than that, almost since they met.

He comes closer, until Dean has to look up at his face, until he just has to shift forward a fraction of an inch for them to be touching. And then Seth sinks down onto his knees in front of him, almost crumpling in on himself, spine curved, shoulders sagging, head bowed — it makes his heart ache and race at the same time. He moves, almost crawls, nearer, until his hands are loosely wrapping around his jean-clad legs and he presses his cheek into the inside of his knee. His eyes are closed, face down, and he's shaking slightly, his breathing ragged.

Dean takes a long, deep breath before reaching out and gently brushing hair out of his face. He feels wetness on his cheek and he takes no pleasure in this particular pain. They've hurt each other countless times in immeasurable ways, and maybe he would've enjoyed this months ago, would've been able to detach his feelings from it, but it hurts him just as much to witness it now. He moves his fingers down to his chin, tips his face up so that he can look him in the eye.

"I'm sorry — I'm _so fucking sorry_ ," he says, hair wild and eyes bloodshot, tear-streaks down his face, lips bitten raw.

"I know. It's okay," Dean says, and he means it. He's tired, he's tired of all of it, and maybe Seth begging for forgiveness is what he thought he wanted — needed — but there's no real satisfaction in seeing him like this either. Maybe he'll never forget the bitter agony of his betrayal, but he can't forget that it only hurt so bad because he loved him so fucking much in the first place.

He gathers Seth close to him, his face buried in his lap, running his hands soothingly through his hair, and lets him cry it out, heavy sobs that wrack his entire body.

They stay there for a while, Dean cradling him against his body, until Seth catches his breath and he can look up at him again.

"You can still hit me, if you want," he says, looking like a fucking wreck but with a hint of a stupid smile on his face, looking almost like _his_ Seth again.

"Shut up," Dean tells him before guiding his mouth up to meet his own.


End file.
